


bubblegum heart

by noctiphany



Series: Fruit Punch Lips/Tar Black Soul [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Bruce Wayne is not a good man, Crime Boss Bruce, M/M, Problematic Themes, baby Jay is a spoiled brat, inappropriate cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-24 01:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19162612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctiphany/pseuds/noctiphany
Summary: He knows what the men who work for him say, what they all think. He doesn’tcare,and they all know he’d shoot them dead if he ever caught them speaking it, but he’d rather not fuel the rumors right in front of them. He is a well renowned crime boss, he can handle ateenager.





	bubblegum heart

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, new series. May not be for everyone. Heed the warnings and tags, please. They are there for a reason. 
> 
> There are no explicit scenes in this but I tagged it mature due to the content and context. Also because it will have explicit content eventually.
> 
> OH ALSO THIS IS THE AO3 USER FORMERLY KNOWN AS OHMCGEE. IN CASE YOU DIDN'T KNOW. K? K.

“Your men,” Bruce says, steepling his fingers together on top of the dark mahogany table, straightening the cuffs on his suit before he looks down the length of the table and meets Cobblepot’s eyes. “Failed.”

“There -- there were unforeseen --”

Bruce sighs and his eyes flick over to Dick in the corner. He gives a small nod in Cobblepot’s direction and Dick puts his phone in his pocket and peels himself off the wall, slides the gun out of the back of his jeans and presses the barrel to the back of Cobblepot’s head.

“Wait! Please! I can --”

“Penguin,” Bruce says, lifting his glass of wine and swirling it around before raising it to his lips. “What is the first rule?”

“N-no excuses,” Cobblepot stammers out, quivering in his seat like a child about to piss itself. “Apologies, Mr. Wayne, sir. My deepest apologies. It will not happen again. I assure you.”

“Hn,” Bruce says, licking the drop of red from his mouth as he sets his glass back on the table. “And how, exactly, am I supposed to feel so assured?”

Penguin flinches as Dick presses the gun harder against his skull. “Th-the men, my men. They will be dealt with accordingly. They will not fail you again, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce smiles easily and waves his hand at Dick, who shrugs and slips his gun back into his jeans and goes back to his spot against the wall, pulls his phone back out of his pocket and starts tapping away at it again. Bruce’s smile falters a little when he wonders if Dick is texting the redhead again, the cop’s daughter, but he’ll deal with that later. 

“Please,” he says, turning his gaze back to Cobblepot. “Call me Bruce.”

Penguin smiles at him hesitantly, shifts around in his seat and glances at Dick out of the corner of his eye.

“These things do happen, after all,” Bruce says with a flippant wave of his hand. “It is very hard to get good help these days. I understand that. But in this profession, one can’t abide too many fuck-ups. You understand that.”

“Yes, of course Mr. Wayne,” Penguin stammers and Bruce’s smile broadens. He’ll insist they call him Bruce until he’s blue in the face and they never will. Maybe it’s because they know the second they do he’ll break their arm. There is something to be said for self-preservation, he supposes. 

“Wonderful,” Bruce says, lifting his glass. “Now please, do try the wine. It’s come all the way from a small village in Belgium and if I do say so --”

Bruce cuts himself off when the double doors to the meeting room are pushed open, hears the squeak of new sneakers on the marble floor and closes his eyes, sighs. Dick looks up from his phone and smirks, then goes back to whatever he was doing. 

Bruce presses his mouth to the inside of Jason’s wrist when he throws both arms around his neck and presses against him. He smells like sunshine and bubblegum, always.

“Jay,” Bruce says evenly. He has asked him, repeatedly, not to barge in when the double doors are shut. “We have company.”

Jason sets his slushie down on the table and hops up on the edge of it, glancing behind him for a moment to see who their visitor is today. “Oh hey, Penguin,” he says, pulling a fry out of the paper sack in his hand and shoving it in his mouth. “How’s it hanging?”

“Wonderful,” Penguin says, fingering the glass in front of him. “Your -- Mr. Wayne was just treating me to a lovely glass of Belgian wine.”

Jason scrunches his nose up. "I don’t know how you drink that stuff,” he says. “Tastes like gasoline if you ask me.”

“We can’t all have such refined tastes as,” Bruce says, plucking the cup off the table that’s leaving water rings that Alfred will no doubt raise hell about later. “Blastin’ blue raspberry.” 

Jason grins and swipes the cup away from Bruce. “My tongue’s blue,” he says, leaning forward and sticking his tongue out for Bruce to see. True enough, his entire tongue and the back of his throat, even some of his teeth have all turned blue from the slushie. In the corner, Bruce hears Dick snickering.

“Yes,” Bruce says, lifting an eyebrow at him. “I can see that. Now why don’t you go eat your food in the kitchen so I can finish up my meeting with Mr. Cobblepot.” 

“But --”

“Jason.”

“Ugh,” Jay huffs, pouting as he hops off the table. “ _Fine_.”

When he holds his hand out, Bruce raises both eyebrows.

“Well, if you’re not going to pay attention to me you can at least give me your credit card,” Jason says, ignoring Dick’s snort from the corner of the room. “I’m _bored_.”

“Fine,” Bruce says and pulls out his wallet, slipping the platinum card from its slot. “If that’s --”

“Uh-uh,” Jason shakes his head. “The black one.”

“Jay --”

“We were supposed to go see _The Nutcracker,”_ Jason says and Bruce’s fingers slip, nearly dropping his wallet. The ballet, that was today. Started an hour ago, actually. Alfred generally reminds him of these things but he's out of town this week, so of course Bruce had completely forgotten. Honestly, he’s surprised Jay’s being this calm about it. The last time Bruce had forgotten about something he’d promised Jay had tried to set his car on fire.  

“You’ve seen _The Nutcracker_ dozens of times,” Bruce points out, attempting to hold his ground. He knows what the men who work for him say, what they all think. He doesn’t _care_ , and they all know he’d shoot them dead if he ever caught them speaking it, but he’d rather not fuel the rumor mill right in front of them. He is a well renowned crime boss. He can handle a _teenager_. 

“He just wants to be the fairy,” Dick mutters without looking up from his phone and Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose, preparing for the onslaught. 

“Screw you, _Dick_ ,” Jason retorts, sticking his tongue out at him, and Bruce holds his hand up, silencing Dick before the two of them start bickering in the middle of a goddamn meeting. Most people assume they’re brothers from the way they treat each other, and they’re not too far off. 

Sighing, Bruce slips the centurion card out of his wallet, holding it just out of Jason’s reach. If it’s the only way he’s going to be able to get Penguin and the aroma of dead fish out of his dining room soon, so be it. “Rules?”

Jason rolls his eyes and snatches the card out of Bruce’s hand, sliding it in his back pocket. “Nothing illegal.”

“And?”

Jason’s shoulders slump. “No puppies.”

“Thank you.”

“I still don’t get why --”

“Jay,” Bruce snaps, starting to lose his patience, but Jay just grins and leans down to kiss him. Jay’s lips are cold and taste like salt from the fries, but his tongue is sweet and syrupy, and Bruce forgets where he is for a moment. He draws Jay in by the back of his neck and opens his mouth, sucks the sugar off of his tongue until Jay whimpers and Dick, to the left of them, clears his throat. 

“K, I'm going, I'm going,” Jay says when they break apart, cheeks flushed as he grabs his bag. “Wanna share my fries, Dickie?”

Dick looks to Bruce for the okay and Bruce gives him a go ahead nod. He can handle Penguin by himself.

“Oh hey B," Jay says before he leaves the room, two french fries hanging from his mouth. "If you kill him take your tie off first. Alfred said Italian silk is a bitch to get blood stains out of.”

"Language, " Bruce says sternly, but Jay just smirks and slams the door behind him, giggling loudly with Dick out in the hallway. Bruce rubs his forehead and sighs.

"I apologize for the interruption, gentleman, " he says. "Now, let us continue our conversation."

It does not go unnoticed that any time he loosens the knot in his tie, Penguin jumps

 

: : : 

 

“I can’t believe you forgot,” Jay says later that night, when Bruce finally finishes up with business and comes to bed. He’s lying diagonally across Bruce’s bed painting his fingernails, wearing nothing but one of Bruce’s button ups, and Bruce stops dead in his tracks when he sees him. 

“Alfred always--” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jay says, popping a bubble with his gum and rolling his eyes. “If you really wanted to go with me, you would’ve remembered.”

“That’s not true, Jay,” Bruce sighs, removing his shirt and tie. He’s tired. He’s been dealing with idiots all day and it's a testament to his restraint that any of them are still alive. He's not in the mood for one of Jason's mercurial tantrums. “I just get busy. You know that.” 

“Mhm,” Jay hums, flicking the little brush across his pinky nail. Bruce has no idea why he's decided to randomly paint his nails or where he even got the polish from, but he has to admit the soft pink hue looks nice on him.

“Don't pout,” Bruce says, finally shedding his pants and joining Jay on the bed, bending down to place a kiss to the top of his head. “Just tell me what to do to make it up to you. "

As soon as Jay looks up at him with those big blue puppy dog eyes and grins, Bruce immediately knows he's going to regret asking. 

 

: : :

 

Alfred returns on Thursday, thankfully, because it’s the same day Bruce has to meet with the Falcones. Penguin was one thing, but there are some meetings he’d rather Jay not interrupt. Some of them require his full concentration in order to ensure that things go smoothly and remain that way, and Bruce is self-aware enough to know that as soon as Jay enters the room that’s pretty much shot. So, when Alfred gets ready to run errands for the day, Bruce asks him to take Jay along with him. 

The sit down with the Falcones goes surprisingly well for a change. He and Carmine even get nostalgic for a bit as they sip on vintage scotch, reminiscing about Bruce’s parents. 

“Ah, Thomas,” Carmine says, flashing a filthy grin. “He was a nasty son of a bitch. A good one though, y’know? Not for nothing, but that man gave me ---”

Falcone trails off in the middle of his sentence, narrowing his eyes across the table, squinting at Bruce’s hand where it’s wrapped around his glass. 

“Is that --” Carmine starts, just as Bruce is looking down to see what caught the man’s attention.

Ah. 

“It’s nail polish,” Bruce says matter-of-factly, taking another slow sip of his scotch. The shift in the mood in the room is palpable. Bruce really doesn’t want to kill anyone today. His entire suit is Italian silk. He can’t very well remove _that_ first _._

“It’s...pink,” Carmine finishes, dumbfounded. 

“Bubblegum,” Bruce states flatly, staring the man down. “I can have Alfred pick you up a bottle, if you like.” 

He waits. Feels the atmosphere in the room shift again. Sets his glass down in case he needs to reach for his gun. 

Then Carmine throws his head back and guffaws, the rest of his men falling into uproarious laughter along with him. 

“You’re crazy,” Carmine laughs. “Just like your old man. Jesus Christ, you Waynes. You're fuckin' insane.” 

Bruce, as always, takes it as a compliment. 

 


End file.
